


Dress Up

by BurningTea



Category: Leverage
Genre: And eye-liner, Eliot is made to play dress up, Hardison and Parker have a question for him, Multi, There's a black dress involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardison and Parker tell Eliot he should try on a bunch of outfits and have his picture taken. A lot. He isn't sure why he's the only one doing this, until he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Up

**Author's Note:**

> Because I wanted to write something fluffy for Leverage and [tidal_race](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tidal_race/pseuds/tidal_race) told me about the 'Eliot is the little black dress' thing, so it's not my fault.

Eliot takes the last step down into the main room and stops. Completely. He almost turns around and goes right back up to his room, just in case starting the day again means it works out differently. He’s still got bruises from their last job and a nagging feeling he could do with getting out of the city for a while. This is not looking likely to lead to a fishing trip.

Before he can move, Hardison looks up from his camera and grins.

“There you are,” he says, as though Eliot has been hiding. “You ready for your close-up?”

“For my what now?” Eliot asks.

The camera isn’t really that strange. Hardison always has some kind of tech around the place, and it’s not like faking photographic evidence is out of the normal way of things. Even the backdrop all set up for a shoot isn’t that weird. Just last week he had to play reporter for a job.

No. What’s really throwing him are the clothes. 

“Did we raid fashion week?” he asks. 

From her spot sitting cross-legged on a pile of what might be coats, Parker waves and smiles.

“We need a fashion shoot,” she says. 

Eliot waits, but no further information is thrown at him.

“What for, Parker?” he asks, at last. 

They didn’t have a job the last time he checked, which was all of five hours ago. If the two of them have picked up a client and jumped right into a con without telling him, he’s going to need to go over their rules again. Parker’s the mastermind now Nate and Sophie are off pretending they can cope with a normal life, but she agreed she wouldn’t be Nate about it. They’re supposed to at least talk over a job before starting it.

Instead of giving him a proper answer, she shrugs and uncoils, bouncing to her feet and crossing to Hardison, where she leans in and stage-whispers somewhere vaguely near Hardison’s ear. Give or take a couple of feet.

“I don’t think he’s going to go for it.”

“You underestimate the man,” Hardison stage-whispers back. “Give him a chance, woman.”

“Give him a chance to what?” Eliot asks, and realizes he has his arms crossed over his chest. “Give me a chance to what? What kind of idiotic plan have you two come up with this time? Is Parker going to be a model?”

He can see it, though. Parker walked the runway that one time, even if she did throw herself off it. And she’s got a lot better at the body language over the years. Still doesn’t tell him what job this is or who he might have to hit.

“Not Parker,” Parker says, and hold up a piece of fabric.

It’s a man’s shirt. 

It’s a man’s shirt and it’s too short for Hardison.

“You…? What? No!”

They both stare at him, something of a smile hovering about their expressions but a lot more certainty that he isn’t escaping from whatever they have planned. When it’s life or death, they let him take the lead, but on everything else he’s playing catch-up to two energized bunnies of chaos and this is one of those times.

“Is that make-up?”

He doesn’t try to stop the snap and growl in his voice, and neither one of them calls him on it. He’s given up expecting them to. It’s safety, in its way. 

“Yep,” Parker says. “I want to draw patterns on you but Hardison says we should start with your eyes and see where it takes us.”

And she holds up a pencil that wasn’t in her hand a moment ago. No, she fucking flourishes it, like it’s a treat. 

“You want me to get dressed up, with eye-liner, and have my photo taken,” Eliot asks, because getting clear intel is key when planning an escape.

It’s not that he’s got a problem with any part of that, exactly. He’s dressed up all kinds of ways for the job, and he likes to get dressed nice every now and then. He’s worn eye-liner before, too. It’s not that. 

It’s more that all of that at once, when he wasn’t expecting it and isn’t sure why it’s happening, makes him feel unsteady on his feet, and he hates feeling unsteady on his feet. The joy on Parker’s face tends to set his alarms off, too.

“Listen,” Hardison says, “it’s only going to take a couple of hours. Maybe a few more.”

“A few…? I don’t have a few hours, Hardison. I’ve got shit to do.”

He can find things to to do.

“You don’t have a few hours for the sake of art?” Hardison asks, pressing a hand to his own chest, fingers splayed. “Am I hearing you right? What do you have against works of art?”

“Yeah, Eliot,” Parker says, that smile making it onto her lips and she raises her eyebrows. “Be a work of art and I’ll steal you.”

Which…what?

“You still haven’t said why we’re doing this,” Eliot points out, but he takes one step closer, despite himself. 

When they both ask something of him, it’s really hard to say no. 

“So we need a reason?” Parker asks, sounding genuinely interested in the answer. “How about, I think you’ll look pretty?”

“Not really looking to be pretty,” Eliot says, but he’s already another step closer.

“You spend as much time on your hair as Sophie does,” Parker tells him, as though that’s relevant. “And she says it’s to look pretty.”

Ah. Great. Thanks, Sophie.

“People can have different reasons for doing things,” Eliot says. 

Of course, he can’t think of a single alternative reason for spending so long on his hair. He has reasons. He knows he does. He just can’t think of any right now, with Parker holding both the shirt, a deep crimson thing with some kind of pattern on it, and the eye-liner.

“Look,” Hardison says, “Parker and I got to thinking, it’s always a rush when we need photos, always with the flailing and the jumping in and out of character. Until we get a holodeck that can whip us up some images on the fly, it might be good to have some stock footage.”

“And you think we should start with me wearing that?” Eliot asks, gesturing at the shirt. 

It does look expensive. 

“I think we should start with you wearing all of this,” Hardison says, gesturing more widely. 

“But not at once,” Parker says, presumably just in case Eliot tried to layer up the dozens of complete outfits all in one go. “Start with this one.”

“You got any pants to go with that?” he asks, and he hears the lack of resistance in his own words. 

“Hey, you can just wear that if you want,” Hardison says.

“And the eye-liner,” Parker adds.

“And the eye-liner,” Hardison agrees.

It’s not the first time either one of them has said something like it, something kind of flirtatious or suggestive. As usual, Eliot shrugs it off as a joke. It’s great Parker’s getting more comfortable making jokes, and Hardison never does know when to shut up.

“Get me some damn pants,” he says, his hands going to the top button of his shirt.

 

 

Five minutes later, he’s posing in front of the camera, crimson shirt, and black jeans that have to be illegal in at least some states, and eyeliner all present and accounted for. Tight clothing is not his thing, but Parker is being, well, Parker about it. 

And like she says, he’s safe enough here at the brewpub. He doesn’t really need to twitch and keep the exits in view.

“Hold still,” Hardison says. “No. Wait. Turn a little to the right. That’s it. Work it, baby.”

“Work…?”

Eliot stops and glares, and Hardison whistles, the camera whirring. 

“Oh, yeah. That ones a keeper,” the guy says. “Now turn.”

Eliot gives in and does as he’s told.

 

He puts up with the changes of shirt, even the black one with a dragon embroidered on it in electric blue, and the pants, even the flares with fuchsia striped up the outside leg, and he lets Parker retouch the eye-liner. He even lets her try the sparkly silver stuff. He can’t imagine what alias would need any of that, but Hardison is way smarter than he is, and Parker has the gears in her head that turn things in patterns he can’t guess at, so fair enough. 

Besides, it’s making Parker happy. She’s got that grin on her face that’s almost like when she finds an especially great safe. And Hardison keeps telling him he’s doing good, and he’s pretty sure he’s managed to hide what that does to him, but there’s no harm in enjoying it just a little.

So he changes and poses and only occasionally growls.

He baulks at the dress.

“It’s a robe,” Parker tells him. “And it’ll look cute.”

All of his words have taken a holiday at once. He can’t find any, so he just stares at Parker, then the dress, then Parker, then Hardison.

“Didn’t figure you for being scared of a piece of fabric,” Harison tells him.

“Why would you ever need a photo of me wearing a black dress?” he asks. Chokes, if he’s being honest.

Which he is, because Eliot is always honest with himself, even if he doesn’t much like what he’s being honest about. And this doesn’t even rate. Hell, he wore something just as much like a dress when Hardison found them that job in San Diego, a job that was just an excuse to go to ComicCon, he’s sure. He still isn’t sure what he was meant to be.

So he has to wonder why he’s so reluctant to wear this. 

It’s not like Parker or Hardison exactly conform to strict gender roles. Hell, he isn’t even sure Parker knows what they are except for when Sophie tells her. And he already breaks a few of those rules himself, depending on who you ask. 

“Are you sure you didn’t get that one for you?” he asks Parker, stalling for time.

He just needs to work out what the issue is, and then he can plan around it.

Parker holds the dress up and inspects it, frowning. After a few moments, she shrugs.

“I don’t think so. I only went shopping for you.”

Only…?

“You said we should all get photos now, so we’d have stock,” he says. 

Hardison has the grace to look ashamed. For all of two seconds.

“Well, it’s not a bad idea,” he says. “But neither is you playing dress up. I’m getting some great images, brother.”

Which is all well and good, but nobody should call anyone ‘brother’ while looking at them like that. And he isn’t sure why Hardison thought some of those poses were necessary, either. 

“Which, again, only makes sense if we all do it,” Eliot tries, and tilts his body backwards as Parker holds the dress up against him, her head to one side. “Come on. Is all this really for me? We’ll be here all day!”

“If we argue over every little thing, yeah, we will,” Hardison says, the words sliding up and down in pitch. 

He even does that thing where he just looks at Eliot, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and Parker’s still trying to hold the dress against him and he just…he just…

“Fine!”

“I think you need different shoes for this one,” Parker tells him, happily.

 

Finally, they let him take a break. He’s still wearing eye-liner, the black stuff again, and Parker’s made him keep on the last top. At least it’s more comfortable than some of them, but he isn’t normally the type to wear a woolen sweater with buttons all up the sleeve and entirely too much neck. The jeans are looser than the first pair, but not by as much as he could do with. 

“Relax,” Hardison says, taking the space next to him on the couch and handing over a beer. “You did good. And you look good. Enjoy it.”

“I’m wearing eye-liner with a sweater,” Eliot tells him. “I don’t think they go together. What alias would wear this?”

Hardison pauses just a second too long, and Eliot groans, letting his head fall back against the couch and closing his eyes.

“This wasn’t for any aliases, was it?” he asks, but he doesn’t need to. “The two of you just wanted to make me play dress up. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’s got the beer cradled between his hands, cold and smooth, and it startles him a little when something warm joins the sensation.

Opening his eyes, he sees Parker, her hand on one of his and her eyes worried.

“Did we upset you?” she asks. “You like being different people. I’ve seen you enjoy it.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to spend my whole morning getting dolled up and acting like a model,” he tells her, but he says it gently. “I could have got other thing going on.”

“Yeah, well, we figured it was better to stay here and let those bruises heal up,” Hardison says. “You go out, and ten to one you run into someone to hit.”

He doesn’t. It’s not like that. He uses violence when he needs to, yes, but… 

Actually, he has been getting into more fights lately, just when he’s out and about. But sometimes more people are being asses and need putting in their place. It’s nothing to do with Eliot.

Except for how it kind of is.

Still, he’s been doing well enough keeping this one to himself, and he isn’t about to stop now.

“Not up to you,” he says, and shifts his hands, shaking Parker off, to pick at the label.

“You don’t think, maybe, it’s because of us?” Hardison asks.

That sounds like a real question, the kind he can’t just push aside, not without at least knowing what he’s pushing aside.

“How could it be because of you two?”

He sees Parker shoot a look at Hardison and knows, just knows, they’ve talked this over. He isn’t sure if they’ve set this up, or if they’ve just got a strategy for what to day if this comes up. Either way, he scowls.

“It’s been…kind of different, since Nate and Sophie left,” Parker says.

She must have the first line in the script, then. He wonders if Sophie helped to write it.

“And we get it, man, we do,” Hardison says. “Gotta be weird, being third wheel all the time.”

“It’s fine,” Eliot says.

But the thought pings something in his brain. Maybe he hasn’t been as honest with himself as he could have been.

“Fine isn’t exactly what we’re going for,” Hardison says.

“We’re better than fine when we’re on a job,” Parker says. “We can be better than fine now, too.”

She’s still kneeling on the floor, practically at Eliot’s feet, and it’s a distracting image that he is not thinking about at all. Not at all. He just maybe needs to get out tonight, see if he can find someone into an evening of fun. Not like he’s hurting for outfits.

“Do you get what we’re saying?” Hardison asks.

“I have no clue,” Eliot says. “Nothing needs to change.”

“Things have already changed,” Parker says, and when Parker’s the one making sense it’s time to pay attention. “We’ve all changed. And that’s fine. That’s good. We could work some more on the together bit.”

“You really were working those clothes,” Hardison says.

And that line he’s been dancing along, the one where he tells himself every comment is just a joke and that every tug of his heart or his body is just some reflex, is suddenly behind him, and he doesn’t want to cross back. His mouth is dry, and he can’t let go of the bottle, and he needs to say this now, wearing eye-liner and a fancy sweater and with hours of posing as a living doll behind him. Because this is his life, apparently.

“If this is some joke, just tell me,” he says, and wishes he could strip the need from that. “Because it sounds like you’re both coming on to me, and I am too bruised and battered to just roll with it.”

He doesn’t really mean the physical bruises, but they don’t need to know that.

“We’ve been coming on to you for months,” Parker says, matter of fact. “But you didn’t notice.”

“I was thinking you noticed and didn’t believe us,” Hardison says. “Or you didn’t want to believe us. And that’s cool. You do you. If you aren’t into it, no harm, no foul. We just wanted to, you know,” and he skates a hand, palm flat, across the empty space in front of him, “get it out there.”

“Get it out there?” Eliot asks. “That the two of you are coming on to me. You wanted to get that out there?”

“Yes,” Parker says, and takes his hand again, squeezing it. “So. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

Playing dumb isn’t going to get him much further, but he’s still not quite found steady ground, here. He just needs a bit longer.

“Want us back,” Parker says. 

And maybe he doesn’t need that much time, after all.

“I just spent four hours wearing everything you told me to,” he says. “And eye-liner. And a dress.”

“That’s not an answer,” Parker says. “Alec, make him give us an answer.”

But Hardison, when Eliot turns his head, is smiling, a slow curl of his lips, his head dipped forward.

“Oh, I think he did,” he says. “Why don’t you try telling him to take the clothes off, and see what he does?”

“You just wanted to see how far you could push me,” Eliot says, but he can’t quite find the anger he expects to feel at that. “This was all some test.”

“No. Uh-huh,” Hardison says, shaking his head. The smile’s still in place. “I wanted those photos. And we can use some of them. Probably. And some of them… Damn, Eliot.”

Despite himself, and despite the flush to his cheeks, Eliot smirks.

“I look that good?”

“You look that good,” Hardison tells him, and meets his eyes. 

Parker tugs at his hand, and Eliot turns back to her. She has want on her face.

“And now I want to see how good you look without them,” she tells him. “Do you want that?”

And that one doesn’t take any thought at all to answer.

 

Sophie sends him a message a few days later, complimenting him on how well he wears the dress, and he rolls his eyes, and shouts at Hardison, and somehow it ends up with kissing him, Parker grinning at them from a perch nearby. They never do get around to throwing any of the clothes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr. I'm [humanformdragon](http://humanformdragon.tumblr.com/).


End file.
